


Tactile

by WolfstarGarden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Drama, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Marauders' Era, One Shot, Plot, Slash, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfstarGarden/pseuds/WolfstarGarden
Summary: Remus drops his gaze to Sirius’ grasping hand. “You’re always touching me,” he says in a wondering whisper.“No I’m not,” Sirius says, stunned and confused and uncharacteristically soft. “I’m not.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Self-prompt from the line "You're always touching me" from Yentl and all the super feels of Barbra Streisand and Mandy Pattinkin.
> 
> Took forever to get it even slightly publishable - I find it hard to "show" when writing in present tense. Also found the characterisation all little strained because of how short the fic is. But oh well, I wanted to finish it anyway. Enjoy!

If there’s one thing that Sirius Black is, it’s tactile.

And it’s not as if Remus minds, not really. Only, sometimes he wonders just how strong his self-control is.

Then he remembers that it’s actually pretty bloody strong and things are alright again for a while. Until Sirius gets into one of his jubilant, puppy-ish moods and tries to bounce all over him. When in such moods Sirius tends to be even more careless with his contact, which sometimes ruffles Remus’ natural composure.

So he’ll leave the room with an eye roll and a sarcastic smile, not returning until he feels comfortable being around his friends again.

Oddly enough, touching Peter and James doesn’t affect him in any sort of a way. But then, they aren’t hands on in the same way as Sirius. Remus likes to imagine that’s the difference, anyway.

It isn’t even that he dislikes being touched. After all, being a werewolf has given him a strange sense of his own physicality. Nudity doesn’t bother him, and after living in a dorm room with other boys for several years he barely notices it any more – unless a girl’s skirt rides too high or her shirt sticks to her jumper when she takes it off. But the simple _thereness_ of nakedness doesn’t bother him.

So, it isn’t the touching that’s the problem.

If Remus is honest with himself, he doesn’t really know _what_ the problem is.

“How’re you doing, Moony?” Sirius asks, flopping onto the couch next to where Remus is reclining. Two long, booted legs stretch across Remus’ lap, heavy and uncomfortable where they press against still-fresh bruises. But Sirius Tactile Black likes to remind everyone of his presence as tangibly as possible.

“Keeping on,” Remus murmurs in reply, looking idly at Sirius’ feet and wondering if he should attempt to push them away. They’re disturbingly close to rather delicate parts of his anatomy, and the thick leather cladding on Sirius’ somewhat large feet is anxiety making. In the end, he decides he doesn’t have the energy and lets them stay.

“You look like pixie droppings,” Sirius says with a grin, leaning forwards and tucking a long, curling loop of hair behind Remus’ ear for him. A thrill of tension strips up Remus’ spine and his neck cracks. Sirius’ hand seems to linger for a moment against his jaw and then it’s gone, and when Remus turns to look at his friend he sees only compassion and enthusiasm – two traits that Sirius has in abundance, though one is given a much freer rein.

Remus sighs and rests his hands on Sirius’ boots, leaving a chocolate smear across the scuffed toe. Sirius eyes it. “Yum.” He says, “Chocolate and black leather. Sounds like a song by that mad Muggle I like.”

“You like a lot of mad Muggles. Quite non-discriminatory, you. Good thing, really.”

“Truth. And thank you, Mr Moony. But you are a special case.”

“Of course,” Remus says, offering a weak and tired smile. Sirius’ feet are starting to get heavy.

James appears, throwing himself haphazardly onto the hearth rug before them and ruffling his hair. “’Lo brothers,” he says vaguely, looking across the room. Remus doesn’t need to turn to know that Lily Evans is obviously somewhere behind them. Sirius rolls his eyes.

“Turn you down again, did she?” he asks.

“Nah,” James shakes his shaggy head. “She didn’t speak to me, just tried to hex me when she saw me slip a dungbomb into Snape’s bag. But I was too quick – she might be gifted but, you know, I’m a Potter. We’re just _good_.”

“Dunno where you get that pureblooded attitude from,” Sirius sniffs, but Remus can hear the good cheer in his voice.

“Hm,” James pretends to muse, “might be from my _pure blood_.”

“How you two wound up in Gryffindor...” Remus mumbles.

Sirius barks a laugh. “You’re one to talk, you dark beast!” he leans in and kisses Remus on the cheek, making him vaguely uncomfortable even though it’s just normal Sirius-touching. He does the same thing to James. There’s nothing in it. At least by moving that close he had folded his legs up and several kilograms of solid leather shifted from Remus’ aching legs.

“”Speaking of dark, it’s getting late,” Remus says, even though it isn’t; the sun has barely even set. “I’m gonna head to bed.” He’s tired. He doesn’t want the banter he usually enjoys, something he’s good at even; he just wants some quiet and the oblivion of sleep. He stands, and one hip buckles making him stumble. Remus grabs the arm of the couch to prevent from falling.

And then Sirius is beside him, strong and balancing. James scurries closer.

“Let me help you up the stairs, Remus,” Sirius says, his blazing eyes belying the lightness of his voice. Remus has always loved the colour of Sirius’ eyes – they gleam like the stars all the Black family are named for. There’s magic in that colour.

Remus knows that Sirius will not allow him the small dignity of climbing to the dorm room alone. He’s always been overprotective, and Remus lets himself be shepherded while James stays behind, recognising that same intensity in their friend. When they reach the dorm room Sirius pushes him down on the bed, dropping to his knees and untying Remus’ shoes.

“Sirius,” Remus mumbles, “I know how to get undressed.”

“You’re not well, Moony. It’s fine.” There’s both softness and steel in Sirius’ words, his brilliant gaze landing on Remus again. Remus is too tired to think about what’s going on and with Sirius in one of his touchy moods it’s easier just to let him get on with it.

So Sirius helps him get changed, even starting to undo the buttons on Remus’ shirt before the lupine swats his hands away. Tactile nature or not, it feels suddenly uncomfortably intimate. Remus struggles to keep the heat rising in his chest from showing on his face.

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbles. “Bit overzealous, huh?”

“S’fine,” Remus says, turning his back and shrugging awkwardly out of his shirt. He shifts, stumbling again slightly, and Sirius is there again, arms looping his bare chest, squeezing a little too hard. And ... and there’s something else, something Remus doesn’t want to think about, doesn’t want to recognise. Not right now.

He wriggles free. “Honestly, Sirius, I can manage.” His voice is a little rougher than he means it to be. Sirius pulls back.

“Course you can. I just ... wanna help. Uh, if I can,” Sirius replies. Remus is embarrassed at his own impatience. He glances over his shoulder and sees the expression on Sirius’ face, like a puppy who has just been told _bad dog_. Guilt forces him down and he pats the mattress invitingly as he sits with a sigh.

Sirius smiles and thumps down beside him.

“I appreciate your help, Padfoot,” Remus says softly, squeezing his friend’s shoulder through the curtain of black floss draping it. “You’re a good friend to me.”

“Anything for my Moony,” Sirius says, flippantly, grinning. “I’d do the same for a Slytherin.”

Remus snorts a laugh through his nose. “We both know you wouldn’t.”

“No,” Sirius agrees, laughing. “C’mon, get into bed before you pass out, you nonce.”

Remus lets him help because it’s what Sirius wants – to be helpful, to be hands on – and once he’s tucked into bed Sirius licks him cheerily on the ear and wishes him goodnight as he leaves.

Remus lies on his back, eyes open wide in the black cocoon of his bed curtains. Sirius’ saliva is drying in his ear canal, and he rubs at it distractedly, wondering why he doesn’t feel more disgusted.

l-l

 _I hate potions_ , Remus thinks, scrubbing a frustrated hand across his frustrated brow, prodding his cauldron grumpily with his wand.

“You’re supposed to stir that, Moony. With a spoon,” Peter says, glancing over. His face is even pinker than usual, lit by the steam rising from his own concoction.

“I don’t think it will help,” Remus growls, slapping his knife down on his cutting board and splitting some bubotubers accidentally. He ducks out the way of their escaping pus.

“It’s alright Moony,” Sirius reassures, peering across from the other side of the bench. “Let’s have a look.”

He bends over the cauldron, sniffs and recoils sharply, beginning to dice some calendula, talking Remus through where he has gone wrong. Remus rubs his hands through his hair, pollen falling from his fingers to dust his forehead, tickling into his nose. He sneezes.

Remus is sure he only absorbs half of what Sirius tells him about saving his potion. With a little input from Peter as well, who is doubtless the best of the four of them at potion making, it looks as though Remus will at least get a passing grade.

At the end of the class, Professor Slughorn places a small cauldron on his desk and offers house points to whichever student identifies it – and Peter wins Gryffindor fifteen points when he raises his hand with only a slight hesitation and announces, “Amortentia.”

Slughorn jovially invites each student to walk past and sniff the potion on their way out the classroom, explaining its special scent.

Remus sticks his face into the spiralling, fragrant steam and is struck by a few easily recognisable aromas. He inhales deeply: petricor, expensive ink, chocolate ... and then Sirius barrels into him and the  overwhelming scent of dog and rosemary oil assault him. Something deep in Remus’ belly tightens almost painfully – hot and sharp and ... desperate. He jerks away, shrugging off Sirius’ hands as he rushes abruptly through the open door and into the cool dampness of the dungeon hallway, students milling haphazardly.

James is leaning against the wall, a sorrowful, keening expression on his face. “Willow twigs and rose... _oh_.”

Remus slides up beside him.

“What did you smell?” James asks, eyeing Remus over the top of his glasses.

Remus quirks an eyebrow, the feeling in his belly not quite gone. “Ink.”

James tosses his head and snorts. “How very you.”

They laugh as Sirius and Peter join them and the group head for the Great Hall.

Sirius grasps Remus by the elbow, drawing him back a little. “You okay? You went a bit funny just now.”

“No I didn’t,” Remus says a little too quickly, voice too high. His belly coils tighter, a spring about to snap. Sirius stands typically close, concern etched in the lines of his face, eyes glowing... Remus drops his gaze to Sirius’ grasping hand. “You’re always touching me,” he says in a wondering whisper.

Something flickers across Sirius’ face too quickly for Remus to read. He snatches his hand back as if stung. “No I’m not,” he says, stunned and confused and uncharacteristically soft. “I’m not,” he repeats, shaking his hair out. He turns and hesitates, clearly flustered. “C’mon ... let’s go to lunch.”

Something is happening to the coil inside Remus’, though he isn’t quite sure what. He has no appetite, but follows Sirius anyway.

They catch up to James and Peter easily.  Sirius is frowning.  He hovers for a moment before sitting next to Peter, planting his feet on the bench, bent knees pressed against the table edge. Then a grin blooms on his face and his grubby fingers snatch at the ham sandwiches.

“Share, greedy mongrel,” Peter says mildly, moving the platter from Sirius’ reach.

The brunet mutters something rude, spraying the table with bits of crumb and mustard seeds. Remus asks him to pass the milk and he does so without looking up.

Remus and James glance at each other quizzically. Sirius notices and forces a grin, soft bread and cheese congealed in his teeth.

“Ugh,” James sneers, turning away.

Remus feels strangely uneasy, though the knotin his belly is slowly loosening.

After lunch, the boys head to Transfiguration. Remus and Sirius share a desk; behind them sit James and Peter. But Sirius continues to act oddly, scooting his chair to the edge of the desk. When Remus moves his wand wrong on a difficult gesture, Sirius falters instead of simply wrapping one hand over his own and showing him physically how to complete the complex movement. He waves his hand wildly in front of Remus’ face and stammers vague directions.

“It’s sort of up, and then around and flick ... like:” and Sirius’ hand swooshes through the air. Remus raises his brows, confused. He tries vainly to copy the movement and the goblet on his desk, which should have turned into a duck, instead becomes a feather pillow. And Remus is quite good a Transfiguration, really. But he likes the help Sirius offers him, because no one in the school is better than James and Sirius except the teachers, and they always have fun.

He tries again with no better luck. When he glances at Sirius again, he surprises a nervous restlessness curling his twitching fingers. With a sharp pang, Remus understands: Sirius is too anxious about Remus’ careless words to touch him now.

Remus feels lost, out of his depth. He’s also annoyed at Sirius’ overreaction. “Can you show me properly?”

“Ah ... I...” Sirius waves his hand wildly again.

Remus sighs.

Things don’t get better from there.

During Care of Magical Creatures Sirius is so jittery that their Winged Horse gets away when he fumbles the lead line Remus’ passes.

They’re sailing on a sea of pure awkwardness.

By the end of the day the tension is so strained that Remus lies about lingering pain so that he can hide in his bed.

Sleep is a long time in coming.

l-l

Before long Sirius barely even talks to him. When Remus starts a conversation, Sirius replies with a stunned look, his tongue freezing at the edge of his lips before strangling words out.

It’s horrible.

Remus soon becomes equally moody, constantly distracted as he tries to puzzle Sirius’ behaviour out. It can’t be just what he’d said –unless Sirius had been offended by a connotation Remus hadn’t meant to make. Their tension makes James and Peter edgy too. Tempers are running short amongst them all. Remus misses Sirius sitting beside him, laughing and scrawling notes in the margins of his textbooks during classes. He misses his smile. He misses the tactility.

And he’s getting tired of it. It’s beyond unbearable.

So, Remus decides to do something. It’s not easy; confrontation is not his strongest suit. But he’s also a peace keeper, and there is no peace amongst them.

He ambushes Sirius after supper one night, blocking him in a hidden passage to force the issue.

It’s the first time they’ve been properly alone together since the day of the Amortentia potion, and the smell of rosemary oil and wet dog is strong in such a small space. Sirius tips his weight between his feet, failing to look casual. His apprehension shows in the rope of muscle between his shoulders, the kind of tightness that simply cannot be faked.

Sirius pushes his hands deep into his robe pockets. “Hey, Moony,” he says, tone forcibly light. “D’you wanna ... move, so I can ...”

“No,” Remus says with iron force. “I want to know what’s going on here.”

“Here? Nothing. I’m just taking a short cut back to the tower.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Remus says, unyielding. “I mean between ... ah, us.”

Sirius pauses. “What us? There’s no us.”

Remus blinks rapidly, surprised by how stung he feels. He blusters, “I mean ... uh, I meant ... what’s going on between us? I mean, you’ve been avoiding me ... ignoring me.”

“Just thought you wanted a little space, Moony.” Sirius beams at him recklessly, edging away. “You know, like you said ... thought this is what you wanted.”

“I never ... I didn’t – don’t want you to ... to think that I ... that I meant...”

“Moony, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Things are fine. They’re always fine. D’you wanna walk back to the tower, or stand here all night babbling?”

“I’m trying to be serious!” Remus snaps, angered by Sirius’ flippancy.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Sirius says, stepping closer. His eyes glint with icy aggression, his body rigid, jaw hard. Remus startles, but doesn’t step back as Sirius catapults into his space. Remus doesn’t intimidate easily.

They eye each other like angry dogs. This is unchartered waters, and Remus reacts on instinct. He blurts tactlessly, “I don’t like the way you’ve been acting.”

“The way _I’ve_ been acting?” Sirius retorts, lip curling in an unattractive sneer – an expression he usually reserves for Snape, Remus notes, disbelieving and horrified. “When did you become such a prince, Remus? I’m just trying to do what I thought you wanted! You can’t have it both ways.”

Remus is dumfounded. “I don’t want it any way! I just want things to go back to normal – you’re acting like ... like...”

“Like _what_ , Remus?” there’s a growl in Sirius’ voice, promise of an impending tantrum, but Remus is too angry to stop himself.

“ _Like I’m a werewolf_ ,” he snarls.

Sirius steps back abruptly. Remus is warmed by a spark of triumph that quickly fades when Sirius replies in a dark, low voice, “I cannot believe you think that of me.” He stamps his boots heavily on the stone floor and rages towards Remus, slamming his shoulder as he charges past him.

And Remus just stands there, struggling to breathe, not really sure what had just happened.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

And if things had been awkward before, it was nothing like the next few days. By an unspoken mutual agreement they completely avoided each other, refusing to even acknowledge each other. Remus hid in the library and Sirius spent his time visiting Hagrid.

Strangely enough, the more they pretended like the other didn’t exist, the more acutely aware of Sirius Remus became. They had never fallen out like this before. Remus missed him. He was uneasy.

So were the others. Finally, one night James gets in late from a detention and sees Remus and Sirius sitting in stony silence at opposite ends of the common room. He grunts with deep displeasure, and Remus glances up from the struggle that is his potions essay. James takes in the empty room – Sirius is fiddling an engine part between greasy fingers and Remus can’t tell if he’s been waiting up for James or simply trying to make Remus endure his bad mood.

 “Right, Moony, shut that bleeding book and get your arse over here,” James says, with the paternal tone he sometimes takes with them. With a sigh, Remus dries his scroll and tucks it into his potions textbook, glad to give up for the night. He slouches across the room, trying not to notice the poisonous look Sirius shoots him.

“Sit down,” James orders, aggravated and tired. Remus perches himself at the far end of the couch. “Now, tell me what the fuck is going on with you two.”

James waits. Remus is silent. Sirius hides behind his engine part.

“For fuck’s sake!” James snaps, making them both start. Remus nearly falls off his precarious seat and the slippery metal component tumbles from Sirius’ fingers. “Fine! Don’t tell me, you berks! I don’t _care_. But sort it the fuck out, because Wormtail and I are sick to _death_ of your bitch-fight.”

“Prongs,” Remus starts at the same time Sirius says, “Hey!” but James cuts them both off. He’s lost his temper – something that doesn’t happen very often.

“I don’t care!” he hollers. “Just sort it out and get out of your bad damn moods! I don’t give a fuck who started it or why, _just sort it out_!”

And he stampedes from the room.

Remus doesn’t like upsetting James, but he can’t help feeling petulant all the same. He glances at Sirius, who is staring at the stairs James has just clomped up, tongue lolling in surprise. With an effort, he sucks it back into his mouth and pouts before turning and meeting Remus’ eyes .

“Well, he has a point – as I tried to tell you some days ago,” Remus grumbles.

“Shut up,” Sirius says unhappily, but neither of them looks away. “I don’t have a problem. _You’ve_ got the problem, remember?”

Remus is baffled, and his mouth hangs open unattractively. Sirius snidely points it out for him.

“Are you trying to catch bowtruckles? It’s not a good look for you.”

Remus snaps his mouth shut and fixes Sirius with an aggressive frown – which is quite foreboding on the face of a werewolf. Sirius recoils slightly and Remus growls, “I don’t recall ever saying I had a problem with you.”

 Sirius interrupts him. “You said you didn’t want me touching you!”

 Remus bellows over the top of him, surprising himself. “ _I never said that!_ All I said was you _were_ touching me!”

Sirius says nothing, just pouts in a terribly handsome and aristocratic way. It makes Remus want to thump him on the mouth. His temper is stretched impossibly tight, mouth curled in a frustrated snarl. Sirius looks slightly abashed, the heat in him beginning to abate. Finally he murmurs, “So ... what did it mean?”

Remus falters. “It ... it didn’t mean anything. I was just – just distracted and – confused by the potion, and ... you look me off guard.”

Sirius frowns, a strange glimmer in his eyes. “What does the Amortentia have to do with it?” he asks, voice low and edgy. “What did you smell?”

“Well ... it was hard to tell, with you jumping on me–”

“So you do have a problem with being touched,” Sirius snaps, angry and triumphant.

“No!” Remus says, rubbing a confused hand over his tired eyes. “Why is it such an issue, anyway? Why are you acting so weird about something I said?”

There’s a long silence, and Remus glances up. Sirius is chewing on his thumb tip. “ _You said_ ,” he mumbles around it, “ _you said_ ‘you’re always touching me’ ... and so I ... stopped.” Sirius looks away, words spilling lamely between them.

Remus responds without thinking. “I never said I minded it.”

 _Fuck!!_ Remus looks everywhere except at Sirius, hiding behind his hair. He likes when Sirius touches him, the doggy smell and the rosemary oil and the way Sirius’ eyes shine when they’re together. It just wasn’t something young men said to each other.

Sirius gives him a strange squint. “So ... we can go back to normal?” he asks finally.

“I dare hope so,” Remus mumbles evasively.

“So ... I can show you how properly to move your hand for that Transfiguration spell you keep messing up?”

“Oh, gods, yes. That would be very helpful,” Remus says, the banal and utterly safe question shocking him out of his awkwardness.

Sirius takes a deep breath before flinging himself across to the couch. “Okay,” he says in an odd voice. He grasps Remus’ wrist. “So, it’s meant to be like – this.”

He winds Remus’ hand carefully through the air, but when the gesture is complete he doesn’t let go. His fingers bite carefully into Remus’ skin, a gentle discomfort blossoming between them. His eyes flicker from their hands to catch Remus’ gaze almost shyly. Sirius murmurs, “You really don’t mind?” Instinctively, Remus understands what Sirius is really asking him.

“I don’t,” he says clumsily. “Uh, mind that is.”

Sirius’ huffs a desperate breath, and then his hand suddenly snaps out and locks around Remus’ collar, yanking him forwards until their mouths slam together in a kiss gawky and desperate and soft and hard and everything all at once.

Remus’ heart fizzes with sharp electricity, a beautiful ache that drowns out his over-active thought processes. He leans in...

And Sirius pulls back, too soon. Remus’ hand is twisted around Sirius’ tie. He stares blankly at his fingers, trying to make them open but they no longer seem to obey him, merely wriggling tighter.

“Is – is this okay, too?” Sirius asks breathlessly, eyes fixed on Remus’ neck.

“Uh hm,” Remus gabbles, tugging Sirius back to him and pressing his lips hard against that surly mouth. He crushes their bodies together, sliding lip across lip, searching for a tongue, nipping lightly. Sirius jolts back.

“Moony wait, just ... I don’t ... don’t usually think... about stuff, but. Since ... since then, this is all I’ve been able to think about. I thought you must have known, and that’s why you _said_ , even though I wasn’t sure myself ... but.”

“I didn’t know,” Remus said wondrously. “Any of it ... I just wondered why you went so funny...”

Sirius’ hand slides slowly up Remus’ arm, resting at the curve of his shoulder. “It was that dammed Amortentia potion. It smelled like _you_. Other things too, but ... it was _you_. I thought after, that ... and then this whole time I was going mad trying to figure it out, and ... I would never have guessed. Merlin, this is...”

“Yes,” Remus agrees, understanding what Sirius can’t articulate. He smoothes his hand over Sirius’ amazingly soft hair. Sirius tips his head into Remus’ touch like a dog looking for an ear scratch.

It feels as though it should be more complicated, but the touch of Sirius’ fingers brushing his nape is just so _right_ , so natural. He doesn’t know why, and he’ll probably question it later. Sirius clearly doesn’t have the same confusion, comfortably trailing his blackened, greasy fingers over Remus’ skin. It tickles.

 “You’re thinking something,” Sirius murmurs, his fingers trapped in Remus’ hair. “Why’re you always thinking things?”

“I’m not,” Remus lies, meeting Sirius’ eyes.

“ _Don’t think_. Don’t think about anything, just ... be. Feel ... uh.”

“Okay,” Remus quirks a cheeky smile.

“I don’t mean ... like. Ah, fuck it,” Sirius growls, tightening his grip and drawing Remus close, kissing him hard, passion desperately built-up, not just _weeks_ of wanting, but _more_ , _more_ , spilling between them, being drunken in. Hands move on pure instinct, their bodies shifting as desire swells and fuels them. Remus has to force himself away to draw breath.

His hand trembles against Sirius’ neck. Sirius’ thumb runs slowly across his bottom lip, and Remus fails to quash the impulse to suck it into his mouth, tasting oil and salt. It feels so delightfully perfect. He nips Sirius’ finger with playful sharpness.

Sirius yips and snatches his hand back. “Damn, Moony,” he says. His voice is shaking hard. “I never knew that was hiding inside you.”

Remus hoists an eyebrow. “I would have thought it was obvious that my still waters run rather deep.”

“Well... yes.” Sirius looks strangely out of his depth, his usual cool arrogance, his confidence, appear to have deserted him. “But ... your still waters seemed frozen over.”

“I feel as though I should be offended.” Remus frowns, but he’s also too happy to really care.

“Just as bad for me,” Sirius says quietly, “or I might have thought about doing something before now.”

Remus is startled by his own lack of observation. It seems so damned obvious now.

“I’m an idiot,” he murmurs, “I had no idea.”

“Likewise,” Sirius mumbles back, “But I don’t wanna dwell on that, Moony. Let’s just enjoy this moment.” His thumb strums against Remus’ throat, their eyes catching each other in smiling understanding.

Sirius touches him everywhere, tactile nature finally fully unleashed. As their mouths come together and legs tangle as they strive for more closeness, Remus realises just how much he really doesn’t mind it.

**Author's Note:**

> 50 points to your Hogwarts house for anyone who can correctly guess Sirius' mad muggle. :D


End file.
